


The Wolf At The Door

by LadyZaniahStrangeling



Series: Nurse!Annie [1]
Category: Being Human (UK)
Genre: F/M, Mitchell angsting over the Wolf-shaped Bullet prophecy, protective!Annie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-04
Updated: 2014-04-04
Packaged: 2018-01-18 03:00:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1412527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyZaniahStrangeling/pseuds/LadyZaniahStrangeling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Annie never expects to see Mitchell on her nightly walk after she’s been freed from Purgatory. But she does, and Annie is never to ignore something she sees.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wolf At The Door

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [here](http://ladyzaniahstrangeling.tumblr.com/post/77531626054/the-wolf-at-the-door-fic) as a prompt response for [nichtsdestominder](http://nichtsdestominder.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Set in Season 3, after Mitchell has brought Annie back from Purgatory.

Annie never expects to see Mitchell on her nightly walk after she’s been freed from Purgatory. But she does, and Annie is never to ignore something she sees.

If the slurred and husky Irish accent shouting obscenities at the two men and the horrible mash of discoloured bruising that’s starting to form across his face is any indication, it’s not the vampire’s first bar or fight of the night. Held up by two men built like rugby players, Mitchell’s doubled over, hurling encouragement in the form of insults at the third man who’s delivering a vicious beating to the dark-haired man.

Panic is brewing in Annie’s stomach, boiling up her insides and manifesting itself in a shrill “Stop it! Stop it! You monsters, let go of him! _Mitchell_!” Her shriek echoes across the street, winding itself into the mouth of the alley that Mitchell’s currently being held in, and she knows from the ugly grimace that’s stretched swollenly across his face, the vampire has heard her. Then she’s running across the street as fast as her dead legs will carry her – and she’s never been so grateful that she can move through non-supernaturals like a hazy wisp of smoke; there’s nothing to block her path, not even the car that careens around the corner.

Mitchell spits out blood, groans out what sounds like her name and a sharp _no_ , but Annie’s too caught up in throwing non-corporeal slaps and scraping her fingernails through their all-too human faces, the thought that her actions aren’t making a difference sending a cold, frustrated anger reverberating through her body. There’s no giant rubbish bin in the alley for her to throw things at the three attackers, though a sharp biting wind sends a mini-hurricane of dead leaves and glowing cigarette butts rattling through the gloomy alley.

It shouldn’t be enough to make them stop, but it is, somehow. The cigarette embers fly up into the faces of the three men, and their hands snap up in front of their heads to ward off the invisible attack as their eyes automatically lower into a squinting frown and their confused shouts punctuate the churning air. Annie’s there is the chaos, pulling Mitchell to his feet and keeping the mini-hurricane fuelled until they’re stumbling out in the street, one of her arms around his shoulders and the other resting on his chest to keep him upright. After a street or two, Mitchell shoves Annie away, his steps faltering, his feet tripping over themselves, and when he has to pause and lean against the wall, Annie slaps his hands away irritably and dives back under his arm to support him again. He grumbles, and she smells the drink on his breath, but neither of them say anything until they’re back ho- back at the house they now rent. (Annie doesn’t think she’s ever going to get used to calling the shabby old B&B _home_ ; no, that word was reserved for the pink house in Bristol.)

Mitchell slams the door shut behind him as he enters the house, and she hisses at him to _keep it down, you’ll wake up George and Nina._ He only gives her a blank stare, his eyes glinting black in the darkness, and she flinches before meeting his eyes defiantly. He’s the first to look away.

Annie pushes him roughly into the kitchen, making sure her fingers dig tightly into his upper arm to let him know how pissed off with him she is, and frowns, a little crease between her eyebrows appearing as she cocks her head and focuses her poltergeist power into flicking the dim lights on. “Sit,” she says curtly, and to her satisfaction, the ugly sound of chair legs scraping against tiles echoes throughout the dingy kitchen as she heads to the cupboard where Nina keeps her medical supplies.

Mitchell’s eyes must follow her movements, because there’s a gruff “You don’ need to do tha’,”, his voice thick and full of displeasure. Annie doesn’t turn around, still rummaging through the cupboard, but she holds up a commanding finger to silence him. Her large, oval ring glints in the dusty glow.

When she finds what she wants, Annie dumps the equipment onto the table in front of him, not even sparing the vampire a glance as she crosses back over to the sink to fill a bowl with water and to locate a clean cloth in order to clean up Mitchell’s face. The only sound in the kitchen in the splash of water and the ragged breathing coming from the vampire. Some of the water sloshes over the side as Annie sets the water on the table, and her ‘cautious dabbing’ at Mitchell’s facial wounds really isn’t all that cautious.

“Annie,” Mitchell tries, loosely closing his fingers around her wrist. The water is turning a murky red, the colour of flaking rust. She jerks her hand away glaring at him, before moving in to roughly swipe at the spot she just cleaned. He winces, and Annie purses her lips.

“ _Annie_ ,” the vampire starts again, but the woman stops him with a sharp and angry shake of her curls.

“What the _hell_ were you thinking?” she says, and her voice is low, the dying embers of a fire that are sparking to life. “And you just- you just _let_ them…. You absolute _dick_ , they could have killed you if they had kept going.” And she’s exaggerating, they both know that – what with a vampire’s faster-than-normal healing powers – but the statement sits heavily in the air between them and now he knows. Now he knows how _worried_ she was seeing him like that. It was like seeing Herrick stake him back in Bristol all over again, that feeling of helplessness that swept through her body and threatened to drown her as she was left to watch him spluttering blood on the tiles. The fact that it occurred on the same spot as _her own_ death was something that Annie hadn’t been able to get out of her mind for weeks, either.

Mitchell flicks his eyelids down, and instead of refuting her comment with something like _Don’t be silly, Annie. You can’t get rid of me that easily; you’ll be stuck with me for another hundred years_ he ducks his head lightly, dropping his gazes to the chipped and worn tiles. “Saves someone else the trouble.”

And it’s like Annie’s died all over again.

She hits him – it’s the only thing she can think to do, and somewhere in her head a small voice is shrieking that _ouch, that must have hurt him, catching his wounds_ , but the shell-shocked majority of her doesn’t care. “What,” she says hollowly, too overwhelmed to even phrase it as a question.

“Annie,” Mitchell says again, but then he stops. Annie is shaking her head, her dark hair bouncing. _What happened to him?_ She wonders numbly. _What happened while I was gone?_

“How could you even say that?” she asks, still horrified. He reaches for her hand, running his fingers over her ring and drawing shapes and circles. It looks like he’s trying to ground himself, and with a sudden sharp, intake of breath, Annie knows that this isn’t the alcohol talking. “You’re drunk,” she denies – more to herself than him. She needs to know that _her_ Mitchell would never give up on whatever it is that easily, _her_ Mitchell would never say things like that.

“I’m not,” Mitchell answers quietly. He still won’t look at her, and Annie doesn’t know if it’s shame that she found him in this state or something else. “Not totally, anyway. Believe me, I’ve tried. But all those faces, all those people that I try and push away and ignore while I’m sober…The drink breaks down those barriers, and all of a sudden you’re not just drunk on alcohol, but on the memories, the sensations…” He shakes his head, biting down on his already-split lip. “You can’t stop them, no matter how hard you try. And maybe I’m a coward for not wanting to deal with them anymore, but I can’t. Not today. Not after…” Mitchell’s eyes dart around the kitchen before coming to rest on her own. “Annie, sit down. _Please_ ,” he says, and she doesn’t even realise she’s stood up until he says it, her arms braced on the table. “I know I’m not a good man, I know I’ve failed before. But please,” and it’s a plea now, a drawn out, desperate plea – and she’s never heard Mitchell beg for _anything_ before – “please. Don’t be angry at me. I can take disappointment, but not from you. Anyone but you.”

Because Annie wears her heart on her sleeve and lets her emotions govern her actions. She knows this, and so does Mitchell. She relents to his gentle tugging, and slowly lowers herself back down to her chair. With a sigh that speaks of years she hasn’t lived, Annie feels her initial anger dissipate into severe concern.

“I need to finish cleaning your face,” is the only thing that she says, but Annie makes no move to do so. Instead she gently pushes back the clump of hair by his temple, just above his ear. The vampire closes his troubled eyes with a sigh and leans into her cool fingers. Then he’s leaning forward, pulling her into a hug. Annie sighs again – though it’s less troubled, more _what am I going to do you, you stupid tosser_ –and tucks her chin onto his shoulder, slipping her arms around Mitchell. She can feel his body tremble – though from what she does not know – as he presses his face gently into his neck.

There’s the hoarse whisper of “I’m sorry,” and Annie strokes his hair in reply.

“I forgive you,” she murmurs back softly, because she knows that whatever Mitchell does, she somehow finds a way to overlook his sins for the man he’s so desperately trying to become.

Mitchell squeezes her tighter and Annie stares up at the dusty lights of the kitchen, wondering just how much longer she can go on like this.


End file.
